Gospel Story Finder

Young Tommy Monson had always wanted a pony. He often admired his friend Henry’s Shetland pony. Wouldn’t he love to have one too!
One December, right before Christmas, Tommy’s mother took him to the toy department of a store in Salt Lake City. The store was going to give away a Shetland pony! To enter the contest, children had to write a note telling why they wanted the pony for Christmas. Tommy carefully wrote his note and placed it in the large box right next to the live pony in the toy department.
Finally the day came when the winner of the pony was going to be announced. Tommy and his mother waited in the excited crowd. Tommy was sure he would win the pony. He had already made a home for it in his sister’s playhouse in the backyard and stacked a pile of hay nearby. But when the name was chosen out of the box, it wasn’t Tommy’s name. Another child took the pony home, and Tommy was heartbroken.
As they left the store, Tommy and his mother walked past a man ringing a bell beside a small kettle to collect money for the poor. Tommy’s mother stopped and dropped in a big silver coin. Then she asked, “Tommy, do you have any money you would like to give to the poor for Christmas?” Tommy reached in his pocket, pulled out two nickels, and dropped them into the kettle, one after the other. It was all the money he had.
President Monson still remembers that day. “I didn’t win the pony,” he recalls. “But I received a far greater gift, even ‘the smile of God’s approval.’” It was a good Christmas after all.

When Daniel’s daughter turned eight, he knew she would want to share her baptism day with friends who were not members of the Church. So their family decided to extend invitations for Allison’s baptism to friends from school and the neighborhood. These friends were asked to bring favorite Bible verses to the baptism. After the baptism, Allison underlined the verses in her new set of scriptures and wrote her friends’ names in the margins.
“Of course, as her family, we were very involved in that day. But we also let her just be with friends a while afterward and talk to them about what she felt,” Daniel said. “It was a really tender moment to see our child set an example.”

About a month after her baptism, Milly met Jonathan at school.
“The first day that I met her, I asked her what she was doing and she said she was going to the temple,” says Jonathan. Right from the start he knew she was a different kind of girl.
Although throughout their friendship Milly would talk to him about the Church, Jonathan wasn’t really interested. Finally, she decided to invite him to a youth dance.
“I just loved the whole spirit of things there,” he says. “They were good people having fun in a good way.” He enjoyed it so much, he told her he was going to come to church with her the next day. And he just kept coming.
“It’s really incredible,” says Milly, “just the change that happened, even in his outward appearance. He cared more about what he did outside of school. It was just a turnaround.”
When he came to church, things began to look and sound familiar to Jonathan. “Little things started sticking out to me the second week, especially the sacrament,” he says. “I was thinking, ‘Wow! This all looks really familiar.’”
The bishop looked him up in the Church’s records, and it turned out that Jonathan was already a member! Jonathan, his mother, and his brother had all been baptized when he was 11.
“I just did because my mother did, and the same goes for my brother.” Jonathan’s family stopped attending church a month after their baptism. “It really didn’t mean much to me because I didn’t know much about the Church,” he says.
But when Milly invited him back, the Church began to mean a lot to him. “Coming back, I never felt out of place,” he says. He was welcomed warmly and ordained to the priesthood when he was 14. Before he went on his mission to Rio de Janeiro, Jonathan was a member of his ward’s Young Men presidency.
And how has living the gospel changed his life?
“How hasn’t it? It was a complete 180. There was so much potential in me that I never would have realized.”

Many years ago two colleagues of mine—a nurse and her doctor husband—asked me why I lived the way I did. I answered, “Because I know the Book of Mormon is true.” I let them borrow my copy of the book, inviting them to read it. A week later they returned my book with a polite “Thanks a lot.”

I responded, “What do you mean, ‘Thanks a lot’? That’s a totally inappropriate response for one who has read this book. You didn’t read it, did you! Please take it back and read it; then I would like my book back.”

Admitting that they had only turned its pages, they accepted my invitation. When they returned, they said tearfully, “We have read the Book of Mormon. We know it is true! We want to know more.” They learned more, and it was my privilege to baptize both of them.

Tessa stared down at her shoes. It was time for gym class. Kids were picking teams to play kickball. She knew she would get picked last. She always did.
Soon no one else was left but Tessa. “I guess we’re stuck with her again,” the team captain whispered to his friend. Both of them snickered.
Tessa pretended she hadn’t heard.
A few minutes into the game, a girl on the other team kicked the ball. It was coming right at Tessa!
I’ll show them I can play! Tessa thought. She lunged forward to catch the ball. But it hit her arms and bounced to the ground.
“Can’t you do anything right?” the team captain said.
Tessa spun around to face him. “Fine! You don’t have to be stuck with me anymore!” She stomped over to the ball and kicked it hard.
Tessa’s best friend, Shondra, ran after her. “Hey, it’s all right,” Shondra said. “Anybody can drop a ball.”
“Yeah? Then how come nobody wants me on their team?” Tessa said.
“Maybe it’s because you get so mad,” Shondra said. She walked back to where the other kids were waiting.
Tessa sat on a bench in the corner of the playground. Her eyes stung with tears. She didn’t want the school to call her parents again. They had already called before. The principal said Tessa had trouble getting along with other kids.
Tessa didn’t know why she acted the way she did. She didn’t want to cause trouble. She just felt so angry and sad sometimes, and she had a hard time keeping it in.
Tessa sighed. “I’ll never fit in,” she said to herself.
When school ended, Tessa hurried outside. Mom was there to pick her up. She listened as Tessa told about her day.
“They never choose me to be on their team,” Tessa said. “I feel like no one is ever on my side.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Mom said. “Sometimes people are unkind. But Heavenly Father is always on your side. And so is your family.” She gave Tessa a hug. “Let’s go home now. I have a surprise for you.”
When they got home, Grandma was there! Tessa always loved her visits.
“I want to know everything that’s going on in your life,” Grandma said. “How’s school?”
Tessa looked down. “Not very good.”
“Your mom said you were having a hard time,” Grandma said. “You know that she and your dad are praying for you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you know that Grandpa and I pray for you, right?”
Tessa nodded.
“Well, now you have a lot of other people praying for you too!”
“What do you mean?” Tessa asked.
“I put your name on the prayer roll in the temple,” Grandma said. “That way, lots of people are praying for you—even people who don’t know you.”
“So, it’s kind of like they’re on the same team as me?” Tessa said.
“Sure, you could look at it that way,” Grandma said. “Heavenly Father is always cheering you on! And now, so are all those people who are praying for you.”
“Thank you, Grandma!” Tessa gave Grandma a big hug.
The next time Tessa felt upset at school, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She remembered all of the people who were praying for her. That helped her feel a little better. Then she bowed her head to say a prayer of her own.
Thank you, Heavenly Father, she prayed. Thank you for cheering me on.

I prepared by trying to follow Jesus Christ’s example. I read the scriptures, prayed, and went to church. I am not 100 percent perfect, but with Heavenly Father’s help, I can be worthy.
Going to the temple for the first time was one of the most wonderful things I have done in my life. I felt Heavenly Father’s love the whole time. I went with my family and some of the youth from my ward. My dad baptized me for some of my ancestors. I liked knowing that I was helping them with something they were not able to do themselves.

Brother Lowell also arranged for the team to travel to Australia and to the Church College of New Zealand and to play several exhibition games en route. To help fund that project, the polo players swam 7,000 laps in a hotel pool, with people pledging money for each lap completed. During the tour they stayed part of the time with LDS families and were impressed by their friendly attitude, high standards, and enthusiasm for life. “They made us feel at home,” Guy Baker, one of Cal’s teammates, said. The team gained enough recognition with its 13–1–1 record during the tour to receive tentative invitations to Japan and Cuba next year.

I grew up in Panguitch, Utah, a small town of 1,500 people. I was a big fish in a little pond. When I graduated from high school, I received a scholarship to attend Brigham Young University. When I got there, I quickly discovered that I was a little fish in a huge pond, and I became discouraged. I thought, “I want to get out of here.” I started to go home on weekends. I attended church at home—not on campus. I didn’t keep my grades at a level at which I ought to have kept them. I didn’t get acquainted with people. By the end of the year, I said, “I’m not going to return. This is not for me.”

I went home that summer. About mid-August I discovered that I wanted to return to school. So I did. This time I immediately joined a social fraternity and a service organization. I moved into the dormitory. I started attending church on campus rather than going home on weekends. My grades improved. I began to realize that life on campus was a good life and that I was happy to be there.

Later I attended law school. My first year was difficult because I was studying a different discipline than what I had studied as an undergraduate, and my grades, again, were not as good as they should have been. The second year, I got a part-time job in a law firm while I was going to school. My grades went up. At the end of my second year, I married my wife, Joy. Even with my additional responsibilities, everything was going well. My grades became better than they had ever been.

The last experience I’d like to share came when I passed the bar exam. A salty old trial lawyer approached me and said, “Bob, you can’t be a successful, effective trial lawyer and an active member of the LDS Church at the same time.” I considered others who were successful in their law practices and active in the Church, and I determined to be active in the Church. My decision didn’t affect my success as a trial lawyer. In fact, it enhanced it because I had balance in my life. I was trying to do what the Lord had asked me to do, and He gave me additional strength, understanding, and help.

We stopped by the man’s house the next day. His name was Favio. A month before, he told us, his friend had loaned him a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“I have always been interested in Jesus Christ, but I had never heard of another testament of His life,” Favio said. “I knew only about the Bible and Christ’s ministry in the East. No one ever told me that Christ came to America! I was excited to learn more.”
A few weeks later Favio had to return the book. “I didn’t know where I would get another copy,” he said. “I wanted more than anything to know if the book was true. I got down on my knees and asked for Heavenly Father’s help. I said, ‘Father, if the Book of Mormon is true, please let another copy fall into my hands so I can continue to study it.’ ”
One day Favio was at a train station. Out of the corner of his eye he saw what looked like a blue book lying on the sidewalk. As he approached it he recognized the golden letters. It was Heavenly Father’s answer.

When missionary couple David and Theresa Nish, from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, noticed a need for improved oral hygiene for children living in Saint Lucia, they knew it was time to do something about it.
Enlisting the help of the Church’s Welfare and Self-Reliance Services Department, young Latter-day Saint volunteers, the Saint Lucia Government and local school administrators, the Dental Hygiene Project was born.
The young women were given the responsibility of purchasing the supplies needed for the dental hygiene kits. They began by enquiring at various shops to find the best value for their money.
Eventually 3,200 toothbrushes, 3,200 tubes of toothpaste and 3,200 plastic cups were purchased and then assembled into 3,200 zipper-lock plastic bags for distribution by the Nishes to local primary schools.
The project was funded by Latter-day Saint Charities which receives donations from Latter-day Saints and others around the world.
“There are few dental facilities or clinics in the communities,” Sister Nish says. “And when they get dental decay and their teeth fall out, that is it, they don’t have any more teeth.”
“We found they weren’t brushing their teeth adequately” David says. “We realized if we got involved at the primary school level there was probably a better chance for children to understand about oral hygiene.”
The Dental Hygiene Project has been moving forward since January 2020 under the direction of the couple, and now includes primary and special-ed schools.
The Nishes’ work with school leaders to set up appointments to teach the children and distribute the dental hygiene kits.
They delight the younger children with role play and stories that teach why brushing your teeth is important.
“The response and gratitude from the local school administrators for the Church’s help has been overwhelming,” David said. “Most were astounded that we gave the dental kits out with no strings attached.”
The Dental Hygiene Project is one of many service projects with which the couple have been involved. Missionaries for just over a year in Saint Lucia, the Nishes spend their days and most evenings looking for ways to serve the people.
“We work with people. We talk to people, we hear what their problems are,' Sister Nish says.
Elder Nish continued, “A lot of what we do—we don’t know why we do it at the time—but a month or two or three months down the line it just all seems to fall into place. It really is not us, it’s the Lord working through us.”

Ana Visbicut leans back against the wooden slats outside her home with a smile on her face. Her children sit with her on a bench, each smiling as broadly as she is. It’s a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon. Ana lives in Puerto Francisco de Orellana, a small city in the jungles of eastern Ecuador. Members of the Orellana Branch presidency have just stopped by, unintentionally interrupting Ana’s visit with the sister missionaries, but she doesn’t mind. She welcomes the company. She has much to be thankful for and offers her thanks freely.
It’s not as though Ana hasn’t had her share of struggles. She lives alone with her five young children. Finding daily work is hard. And when she was baptized in August 2009, only one of her children joined with her.
But over the course of the next year, the blessings came as three more of her children followed her example and were baptized and confirmed (one was too young at the time).
Yes, Ana’s eyes sparkle with gratitude. She, like other members of the Orellana Branch, has discovered the pure joy that comes from living the gospel of Jesus Christ.
In December 2008, there was no formal Church organization in Puerto Francisco de Orellana. At the time, a number of members were living there, some of whom had not attended church in years.
But something happened. The Spirit touched hearts and changed lives, prompting four families to begin meeting together to study the scriptures and teach each other. And this feeling permeates the city even now.
“The people here are hungry and thirsty for the gospel,” says branch member Fanny Baren Garcia.
This hunger inspired members in Puerto Francisco de Orellana to contact the Church and ask permission to have the sacrament. “We didn’t come to them,” recalls Timothy Sloan, former president of the Ecuador Quito Mission. “They called me. The desire to act upon those feelings—to follow the invitation of the Savior throughout the Book of Mormon to exercise faith in Him and to repent—was already there. That’s a message to all of us.”
A similar desire existed in the hearts of those moving to Puerto Francisco de Orellana. In early January 2009, Marco Villavicencio—now the branch president—and his wife, Claudia Ramirez, were considering a job opportunity that would require relocating to Puerto Francisco de Orellana from their home in Machala, on the other side of Ecuador.
“My first question,” says President Villavicencio, “was ‘Is the Church there?’ My wife and I talked it over with our family, and we prayed to know if we should move. As soon as the offer came, we learned that the Church was being established in Puerto Francisco de Orellana. We moved here in February 2009, and the branch was formed the following September.”
The desire to come unto Christ leads naturally to a desire to serve. The gospel of Jesus Christ changes both those who give and those who receive. This reciprocal process happens when hearts are humble, minds are open, and service is rendered. Service has played a principal part in the growth of the Church in Puerto Francisco de Orellana and has strengthened those who have served.
“How do I feel about my calling?” asks Clara Luz Farfán, who was called in September 2010 to serve in the Relief Society presidency. “Happy, because I know I’m going to be able to help other sisters come to church and strengthen the new sisters who have been baptized.”
That same feeling has swept through the hearts of the members of the branch. Lourdes Chenche, the Relief Society president, says that strengthening the sisters requires effort, but it is effort she gladly gives: “As a presidency and as members of Relief Society, we visit the sisters. We draw close to them when they have problems. We provide them food when there is a need. We let them know they are not alone, that we have the help of Jesus Christ and the branch. And we teach them that they have to do their part—pray, study the scriptures, and prepare themselves. We pray with them, we console them, and we love them deeply.”
But the sisters do not do the work alone. “We talk with the branch president to see what can be done,” adds Lourdes. “We share their needs with him and the branch council so we can decide what we need to do.”
The sisters’ commitment to do their part is a sentiment common throughout the branch. At one service project to help a family in the branch, “we all participated,” says Lourdes. “The children, the youth, the adults, the Relief Society, the missionaries. The experience was very edifying. I know that when we ‘are in the service of [our] fellow beings [we] are only in the service of [our] God’ [Mosiah 2:17]. When I serve, it is like I am doing it for Jesus Christ. That’s what the kingdom is about.”
There is something undeniably strengthening about unity, that sense of belonging to the community of Saints. Blessings result when we become “fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19) and we live like members of a family who “are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:8–9).
Fanny explains, “I believe our strength comes from the fact that we as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints feel like a family. And I think serving each other has done great good. We give whatever is needed, and this has created a sense of unity. We receive every new person who comes to church with open arms. We welcome them. I believe a hug says more than a thousand words.”
Ana’s experiences confirm that. As a single mother of five, she faces a constant economic challenge of trying to provide for her family when work is not easy to come by, and that effort can be emotionally and spiritually draining. The fellowship of branch members has been an important contribution to her family during difficult times. “The members come and read scriptures with me,” says Ana. “They watch over me. When we struggle, they are there. That’s very important for new members.”
This sense of fellowship is part of the reason the branch has grown so quickly. From 28 members on its first Sunday, the branch grew to 83 in attendance just a year later, including a dozen visitors not of our faith.
Branch leaders spent the Saturday before their branch conference visiting with members and those investigating the Church. They shared scriptures with them, encouraging them to be better.
One recently baptized brother was converted by a study of the scriptures—reading both on his own and with the members and missionaries. “The Book of Mormon is the key,” he says. “It is the key for me.” He has found joy in the Church. The pull of the gospel is so strong he started paying tithing even before he was baptized.
But friendship goes beyond sharing the gospel with others. It can change a way of life.
“Before I joined the Church,” says Bernabé Pardo, another recent convert, “the only friends I had were people who would go out to drink. But now that I am a member, I have many friends—real friends. They invite me to read the Book of Mormon with them. They invite me over for family home evening. They serve each other. I have gone on service projects with them. My life is completely different now. I have received many, many blessings. I pay my tithing, and the Lord has blessed me.”
It’s a way of life that is not limited to adults. “We are always teaching the young women about the power of fellowship, of saying hello and engaging others,” says Claudia Ramirez. “When people arrive at church for the first time, what makes an impression on them is how they are received. So we teach the young women how important each soul is to the Lord. This has been a great help. And we set goals with the young women for Personal Progress. This motivates them so they can share their friendship with others.”
President Villavicencio explains that “we try to put in practice President Gordon B. Hinckley’s admonition that every new convert needs to be nurtured by the good word of God, have a friend, and have a responsibility.”1
Ana serves as the second counselor in the Primary presidency. Her son Jorge serves as the first counselor in the teachers quorum.
“We give them a responsibility,” says President Villavicencio, “a chance to learn in leadership positions, to have someone help them along.”
For Claudia, serving in the gospel resulted in a subtle swelling of confidence in her heart. “I was baptized when I was eight years old,” Claudia says. “We always attended church. But as I grew older, I saw many bad marriages. I thought about them a lot, and I worried that I could never marry because it wouldn’t be successful. I was afraid to trust my life to someone, that it would be too hard. But when I returned from my mission, I didn’t think the same. Teaching the doctrine changes you.”
Claudia and Marco Villavicencio were friends before her mission. Not long after she returned, they attended the temple together with some friends. Something special occurred. “I felt as if the Lord was answering my prayers, that this was a man I could marry,” Claudia explains. “I have the greatest blessing to have a good husband.”
“Our happiness doesn’t depend on material things,” says Oscar Reyes, age 15, “but in how we live our lives. That’s why I keep the Sabbath day holy, because it is pleasing to God. And that’s why I will serve a mission and why I like serving others.”
By living the gospel, members of the Orellana Branch have found true joy. “I am very happy,” Lourdes shares. “Even though I am very far away from my family, I have a family here too, a spiritual family. I have a great testimony of this work. I know that Jesus Christ lives and that, if we are obedient, He will bless us.”
It is a joy that permeates their lives no matter the challenges life throws at them. It is the joy that comes from righteous living.

When my husband, Joe, told me he wanted to get baptized, I was anything but excited. I had grown up in the Church, but over the years I had struggled with certain ideas and policies. As a young adult, I eventually stopped going to Church meetings and started studying other religions as well as nonreligious lifestyles.
During this time of exploration, I met Joe, and we began living together. My family was concerned about me, but we always had a great relationship. Joe and I often went to family and religious events to support them. We lived this way for four years, and I was happy with it.
Joe and I eventually got married, and soon I became pregnant. During this time, we went to a family reunion with my side of the family. Every day during the reunion, my family held a devotional. Each individual family gave a lesson or bore their testimonies. One devotional was about how amazing my grandparents’ lives had been and what a great role the Church had played in that. Many also talked about how the gospel had brought strength and happiness into their own lives.
When we returned home, Joe was determined to meet with the missionaries. When I asked why, he said, “I need to know for myself what your family members were talking about.” I told him to go ahead. I figured he’d get the basics and then call it good. But after three lessons, Joe wanted to be baptized!
“This is so fast,” I said. “Are you sure you know what it means to be a member of the Church?”
“It means we’re going to go to church and figure it out,” he said with a smile.
I wasn’t terribly excited, but we agreed that he could keep taking the lessons, though he wouldn’t commit to baptism until I was OK with it.
After a few weeks, my feelings about the Church hadn’t changed. But Joe had. He had discovered faith and prayer. He had a sense of peace and confidence that he hadn’t felt before. And it was beautiful to see. I decided that no matter what I was feeling, I couldn’t take this away from him. We determined that if he was going on this journey, we were going to do it together. So Joe got baptized.
A lot of people at the baptism knew I’d been raised in the Church and assumed I must be thrilled. But I felt a mixture of pride in Joe for being so brave, and fear for what this was going to mean for our life together.
I started going to church with Joe, and we made a plan to deal with my concerns. The first step was to identify what, exactly, bothered me about the gospel. We bought a small journal that I brought with me every Sunday. Whenever someone made a comment that irritated me, looked at a scripture with a perspective that I thought seemed odd, or talked about a policy that rubbed me the wrong way, I wrote down my feelings.
I scribbled in that journal for months. I would say things like, “I hate it when people say … ,” “Doesn’t anyone fact-check?” and “That makes no sense to me.” Expressing my feelings as I had them made them easier for me to understand and process. Before, when something bothered me, I would hold on to it all day, and it would poison my church experience. But as I wrote in my journal, I became free to enjoy more of church, in between the moments I struggled with. I was getting more out of it than I had in a long time.
Now that I had identified what bothered me, the next step was determining why these things bugged me. As we would eat Sunday dinner, Joe and I would discuss what I’d written in my journal. Sometimes I would simply say, “This is how I feel. I don’t know why.” Figuring things out took a lot of discussion, personal thought, and prayer. One thing I’ve always believed is that prayer is the most important and accurate source of information on pretty much everything.
Working together, Joe and I realized that when you know who you are and what you believe, it builds a wall of protection around your heart. And so, after a while of writing in my journal and discussing it with Joe and with Heavenly Father, I ran out of criticism regarding the Church.
When the one-year anniversary of Joe’s baptism was approaching, he started asking about going to the temple. Again, my reaction was, “Whoa! Slow down! I’m not ready for that.”
So my patient husband waited. Every now and then, he would slip something into the conversation like, “Honey, I read a great article about the temple. Do you want to read it?” or “Hey, babe, I saw a wonderful video about the temple. Do you want to watch it with me?” His enthusiasm was endearing, but it wasn’t getting me any closer to being ready to go to the temple. Finally, one day he asked me directly what made me feel unprepared.
“You know I had some issues with the Church growing up,” I said. “But I loved going to the temple. Baptism trips were my favorite. I loved the way I felt in the temple, so calm and peaceful. But I don’t know about the rest of the temple. What if someone says or does something that bothers me? What if that ruins going to the temple for me? What would be the point of being a member of the Church if you can’t go to the temple? So I don’t want to go until I’m sure nothing will shake me.”
I found solutions to most of my issues, but I was still struggling with one: how could I be part of a church I didn’t always agree with? This led me to the final step of learning from my journal. I realized I needed to try to understand why other people believe what they believe and say what they say. I needed to know why God had directed the Church to be the way it is today.
I found my answer through my husband. When he first started reading the Book of Mormon, a line from the title page stood out to him: “And now, if there are faults they are the mistakes of men; wherefore, condemn not the things of God.” Joe had quoted this over and over, but now it meant something more to me.
I realized that the Church exists in an imperfect world populated by imperfect people. And that includes me. We all have times when we get things wrong before we get them right. I realized I needed to stop judging others, just as I wouldn’t want them to judge me. We are all on a path of learning and growth.
I also realized that the Church is the Lord’s. It is in His hands. Yes, He works through imperfect people, but He directs His work. He knows what is needed, and when.
After this, I felt ready to go to the temple. I was pleased to find that it felt just as good on that day as it had years before when I had done baptisms. On our third wedding anniversary, my husband and I went to the temple again to be sealed together and have our son sealed to us. It was so sweet and such a happy day. I kept thinking that this was what all families are meant to be—eternal. And I had yet another realization: though there might be policies or doctrines that might take me time to sort out, there are also rare and beautiful truths in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. One is that each of us can actually talk to Heavenly Father and receive answers. Another is that through living prophets, He gives guidance for our day.
Through my experiences, I truly know that revelation for the Church (given through Church leaders) and personal revelation for each of us allow Heavenly Father to guide us through our mistakes and triumphs. As we follow His map for our lives, we can find great happiness in knowing Him and His Son, Jesus Christ (see John 17:3). I am proud to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

As a boy, he took piano lessons, completing all of his grades. His piano teacher recommended to his parents that they approach the organist and choirmaster at the parish church for further tuition, as she could not advance him any further. Cliff was accepted into the local parish church as a chorister in a large choir, and as a pupil at the organ. He made good progress, and at the age of 13 he was asked by the headmaster of his school to play the organ for the daily assemblies which were held in a church close to the school. He continued this until he left school at age 17.

When I was in the National Football League, I looked up to Gifford Nielsen, who had also played for BYU before going on to the NFL, eventually becoming a sportscaster and later a General Authority Seventy. I ran into him one day on a golf course, and he gave me advice that changed the course of my professional career.
We were sitting in a golf cart, just me and him, and after I told him about my plan to go into television like he had after I finished playing football, he gave me advice to not continue pursuing a career that would require me to be at the games on Sundays. That way, I’d always be able to have a calling on Sundays and serve in the Church.
It was that simple, but it was advice that I hadn’t thought about. And that changed the course of my life.

It seems like not so long ago I was but a boy, young and green with eyes unmellowed, but believing I was indeed extremely wise. I was no expert at baseball, but my bedroom was adorned with photographs of baseball heroes—especially those of Pete Dillard. Pete was a famous professional player whose parents lived in our town, and he came every summer for a week with his family to visit them. It was kind of fun to see him around town, shaking hands with everybody and sometimes joining in a neighborhood game and signing autographs afterward. But I never seemed to get close enough to him to even say hello. One day when I was approaching a crowd of fans around Pete, I overheard a boy say, “Hey, Pete, how did you ever get so good at baseball?”
Pete shrugged his shoulders modestly, smiled, and said, “Lots and lots of practice.” But then he paused for a while as if he remembered something and added, “Maybe it’s because I once had a Sunday School teacher who loved me. All of us called him Chief.”
And then Pete was gone.
Most of my experiences with baseball consisted of playing games with my dad and a sprinkling of friends on hot summer evenings. When Dad didn’t have meetings or if he didn’t have to work late at the office, he usually spent some time with me. After dinner we often played catch out in our front yard until way after the street lights blinked on. I still remember his calm, deep voice as he called out to me, “Good throw, Son” or “A little higher, boy” or “Nice curve, John.”
Then other boys would come straggling over one by one and stand and watch us, and Dad would stop the game and invite them to join us. If we eventually accumulated enough people, we’d begin a game of baseball. Everybody liked my dad—almost as much as I did.
There was a boy who lived directly across the street from us, Homer Johnson. He had a mop of red curls, pale thin skin that revealed his veins clear through, and thick, thick glasses. He hardly ever came out of his house. My mother said that he had had a lot of illness. But every so often I’d see his piercing eyes watching us from an upstairs window as we played ball. I’d try not to feel those eyes, but I could not ignore them.
One day just when we had chosen up sides for a game, my team was short one player. But that didn’t matter, because I had all good players. Then suddenly Dad turned his head and said in his calm, deep voice, “Oh, hello there, Homer. Want to join us?”
I reeled around, and there was Homer standing across the street in front of his house, his hands in his pockets. He fidgeted a lot, but slowly he dragged his feet and crossed the street. As he neared, I noticed that he was thinner and smaller than he looked to be from his window … and he didn’t look very strong.
I turned toward my father. “Dad …” I tried to whisper. But he had already walked over and put an arm around Homer. Now they were both walking toward us.
“John needs one more man on his team,” Dad was saying. “You can be an outfielder for now.”
I felt my ears burn. Dad caught my eye, and I think he knew how I felt—he always did. But there was something in Dad’s look that silenced me. I picked up my ball and mitt and stomped off to my position.
The other team scored two home runs. And then it happened. Someone smacked the ball out into the field toward Homer. I saw him position his hands to catch the flying ball, and then … splaatt! His glasses flew, and he was holding his nose, with blood dripping from beneath his hands. Dad had him lie down on the grass to stop the bleeding. Then he sent him home to wash up. Fortunately his glasses hadn’t broken.
After Homer left, I said, “Dad, he’s no good as a player. He shouldn’t be on anyone’s team ’cause he’ll make it lose.”
Then in a low voice so no one else could hear, Dad said, “He’s a child of God, John. Always remember that.”
I didn’t want to make a scene in front of everybody, so I just tromped off and continued playing ball, but my ears were burning. I didn’t say anything else for the rest of the evening. I resented being preached to.
Homer didn’t return the next day or the next. But the following week he was back again, standing in front of his home, fidgeting and staring at us. As we pitched and threw and shouted on my lawn, I could not help but feel two penetrating eyes on us. Then I heard Dad’s voice inviting him to join us, and again I felt my ears turn hot. As I glanced over at my father, I saw a pleading look on his face as he gazed back at me.
That night I lay in bed, wide-eyed. I had thrown off the covers, and still my bedclothes stuck to my back. I heard a rustle. Standing in the doorway was Dad. “You still awake, Son?”
I nodded, and hoped that he could see my response in the dark. His large angular figure came toward me, his gentle eyes sparkling in the dark. I thought of Homer and looked away.
He sat beside me, and I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Son …” he began softly. “Things are getting tight at the office, and I’ll have to stay late at work for a while.”
My heart fell.
“But I have one day reserved just for you,” he continued. “Pete Dillard is going to be in town in a couple of weeks, and they’ve asked him to speak at a fund-raising dinner for crippled children. I have two tickets for you and me.”
Suddenly I was smiling. “Dad!” I shouted. “You mean I get to see Pete Dillard for real! Boy, oh, boy! Wait until my friends hear about this!”
Even though I had this exciting event to look forward to from that day on, things were not the same when my friends and I got together to play ball on the front lawn. Without Dad, we often got into squabbles, and one of the fellows would go home mad. Sometimes Homer would stand at his front door, watching us. But nobody invited him to play ball. So he just stood there all the time with his piercing, piercing eyes.
At last the day of the dinner came. There was Pete in the front of the hall, shaking hands with people and looking really interested in what everyone had to say to him. I don’t remember what was served. My only thoughts were about the baseball that I set beside my plate for Pete to autograph after the dinner.
When it was time for Pete to talk, he arose confidently. He didn’t give the speech we all expected, but said only a few words. Again he mentioned Chief, the Sunday School teacher I had heard him talk about sometime ago.
“I was awkward and clumsy as a boy,” Pete said, “but it was the confidence that Chief had in me that gave me what I needed in my long struggle to become the person that I wanted to become.”
Then he sat down. People began crowding around for autographs. I picked up my ball and started up front. Suddenly I realized Dad was next to me, waiting to meet Pete too.
Finally our turn came. I held my ball up for Pete to autograph. But Pete was staring past me with a funny look on his face, arms outstretched.
“Chief!” he cried. “What are you doing here?” And he threw his arms around my dad.
“I’ve lived here for five years,” Dad replied. “I’ve tried to get hold of you every time you’ve been in town, but you’re an awfully busy man!”
On our way home in the car, many unanswered questions filled my mind. But somehow I couldn’t seem to find the right words to express them. All I could say was, “Dad, you’re great, you really are. Even Pete Dillard thinks so.”
The next evening seemed so empty without my father. I stood in front of my house, waiting for the neighborhood boys to start coming by to play ball again. Idly I tossed a ball into the air, marveling over the happenings of yesterday.
Suddenly I became aware of two piercing eyes upon me. I tried to ignore them, but they were there nonetheless. Then the scene of Pete Dillard embracing my Dad flashed through my mind, and the word Chief! seemed to ring out loud and clear. And I realized then that I yearned to be like my dad.
I found myself slowly crossing the street, walking up the steps of the house opposite mine, and knocking on the door.

This seminary year of home study in the Cambridge Ward in England was going to be different, I thought to myself. The weekly lessons on Tuesday nights were fun because of the close friendships the class had. The previous year my friend Helena and I tried to make the work easier on ourselves. I took the odd-numbered sections of the manual, and Helena took the evens. We each completed the work for those sections and then swapped answers. I have to confess: this was a step up from the year before when I had spent a day at her house copying all her work.
I resolved that this year was going to be different. I was going to take the initiative to learn all my scripture mastery scriptures (not just crumple and smooth out every page in my triple combination with a scripture mastery item to make it easier to turn to) and keep up to date with the home-study manual, if not get ahead. I imagined myself as the shining example to all my classmates. I went to the first class of the new term with my manual, pencil, and newly sharpened red scripture marker in hand and smugly told Helena that I would no longer be needing her help. I would, for a change, be doing the work myself. Or at least that was the plan.
A month later I knew I was already over my head and would need to slog it out for a whole weekend to catch up. A few weeks later I still hadn’t done as much as open the manual, and I tentatively asked Helena how she was doing in her home-study manual, in the hope we could come to an arrangement.
“Oh, when you said you were going to get ahead in the manual, I followed your example and I’m now a whole month-and-a-half ahead in the book. Thanks. You were right,” Helena said smugly, knowing I had reverted to my old ways. I was stuck and had lost my partner in crime.
I decided that I needed a daily reminder to read my scriptures and fill out my manual. It would be hard, and wading through at least three sections of the manual in a short amount of time did not sound appealing. I tried several techniques to remind me to do at least an hour of seminary work every day.
I tried reasoning that after my favorite TV show I would do an hour every evening, but favorite shows were followed by favorite shows, and even when the evening news came on, I was still not motivated. The prayer rock placed on my pillow or where I would tread on it to remind me soon ended up in the back garden after countless bruises on my forehead and stubbed toes. Willpower was not working, and I needed a way to be a bit more diligent in my seminary study.
I decided to pray to Heavenly Father to forgive me of my laziness and asked if He would help me to get down to work. I started putting up bright yellow sticky notes on my bunk bed and desk where I would see them and be reminded to read and study. For the most part they worked. I just had to back them up with constant prayer so that I wouldn’t become complacent.
A week before we had to have all our work turned in, I still had a few sections left to complete. I ended up at Helena’s home again, but this time we completed the remaining work together, reading through the scriptures and answering the questions. Even though I had left a lot of the work till late and had struggled to catch up, seminary turned out to be enjoyable and rewarding as I learned and retained more knowledge than any previous year of seminary. All thanks to Heavenly Father and a few well-placed sticky notes.

Even though I’m 12, I still love reading the Friend. If I am worried or feel unsafe, the Friend is always there. Not long after the December 2004 tsunami, my family and I were watching the news on television. There were pictures of children who lost their parents or who were lost themselves. I began to feel sick and shaky. I asked my brother to read the Friend to me. The Friend helped me stop shaking that night, and it has also helped me with other things. THANKS!Jessica C., age 12, Washington

I was the oldest child in my family, so a lot of people were interested in me as I prepared to be baptized when I turned eight years old. My siblings and all the neighbor kids were curious about my baptism. I was too. I even became quite nervous about being baptized.
My baptism was scheduled on a nice spring day. We lived out in the country, and when I woke up that morning, I decided to take a walk outside. I wanted to look things over for the last time as an unbaptized person. I looked at the trees and the river. I wondered how things would be different after I was baptized because it seemed to be a really big deal.
Then I walked home and got dressed for my baptism. A priest in our ward baptized me. My dad confirmed me and blessed me to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.
After my baptism was over, I didn’t look different at all. My friends came over to see if I had changed. I told them I hadn’t changed—not on the outside. But I had changed on the inside. From that day on, I knew I wanted to be a better boy because of the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.
In the Book of Mormon, we read of some Lamanites who received the Holy Ghost, but “they knew it not” (3 Nephi 9:20). But on the day of my baptism, I knew the Holy Ghost had come upon me. I also knew I wanted to choose the right. I am grateful for the Holy Ghost. Every day I have tried to live so I could always have His companionship. As you try to choose the right, the Holy Ghost can also be your best friend.

I first encountered the power of music as a young missionary serving in France. One day my companion, Elder Robertson, said, “Elder Nadauld, do you know how to sing?”
I said, “Maybe a little. Why do you ask?”
He suggested that we should sing a hymn or two at the beginning of teaching appointments. He and I had sung in our respective high school choirs. We weren’t the Osmond brothers, but we could carry a tune.
At our next teaching opportunity, we sang “Come unto Jesus” in French in two-part harmony. We felt an outpouring of the Spirit stronger than either of us had ever experienced before on our missions. Because of that inspiring experience, we continued to sing prior to all of our teaching, with the same powerful result.

At the time, my 21-year-old daughter, KennaDee, was working in a Veterans Affairs (VA) nursing home. KennaDee loves to sing, and she did it often at work. She sang showtunes as the residents ate lunch. She also sang the official songs of the military branches they had served in and took requests during lunch (including a Christian hymn she didn’t know at first but learned for one resident).
One female resident had lived a life full of abuse. She was combative and would not let the caregivers feed, bathe, or dress her. She would fight against taking her medications and any kind of physical exam. One day, acting upon inspiration, my daughter sang her Primary songs from the Children’s Songbook. The woman calmed immediately. She showed a light of recognition in her eyes. The employees discovered that this woman would cooperate as long as KennaDee sang Primary songs. They could dress, bathe, and feed her and give her medications with little struggle or resistance. KennaDee even taught some Primary songs to the other staff members so they could help this woman when KennaDee wasn’t working.